felicity
by limonium
Summary: Love is fleeting. A collection of fluffy drabbles. —draco/hermione.
1. one

**disclaimer:** i own nothing.

**a/n: **dramione fluff or dramione family fluff with one/two word themes. updated sporadically. made because i have too many ideas for a happy Malfoy family and decided to post this because it's Draco's birthday and i couldn't resist. (even if i posted something for him before but nope).

**. . .**

**one** **—** brooms.

**. . .**

Bets were placed.

(_"A hundred Galleons. If you succeed." Harry had eyed him while he had smirked back in confidence._)

Reassurances were given.

(_"Don't worry, Hermione. It'll be fine and who knows, you might find it fun!" Ginny had patted her back encouragingly and she gulped._)

Worried glances were thrown.

(_"Alright? You don't look too good." Ron watched her, concerned, and she had nodded at him with a smile in return._)

She stared at the hovering broom, trepidation building in her stomach.

A chuckle, disguised as a cough, and she turned to him, eyes narrowing.

"Promise me, under no circumstances are you to pull those stunts."

He grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"I promise, Granger. Come on."

**. . .**

After that, she never gave broomsticks second chances ever again.

(And Draco _earned_ sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week.)

**. . .**


	2. two

**a/n: **if you have any ideas, i wouldn't mind hearing it. :)

**. . .**

**two —** eyes.

**. . .**

She stares.

Draco's eyes are grey. Sometimes, she finds that they are like steel, other times darker, like rain clouds, or maybe even like the colour of concrete.

It's strange but she finds that she likes them.

"You've been staring for a long time, Granger," he drawls, seemingly bored, "I know I'm irresistibly charming but—"

"I'm wondering if our children will have your eyes."

He chokes on air and she blushes, deep red staining her cheeks.

This time, _he_ stares at her and she fidgets under his gaze. She turns to the window, refusing to meet his eyes, face still hot and cheeks still flushed.

"You know, Granger, we can find out if we just— Hey! That _hurt_, woman— Ouch! Okay, _okay_, just stop throwing things—"

**. . .**

**a/n2: **i like bullying draco. –insert evil laugh here–


	3. three

**a/n:** the number one ship that is drapple.

**. . .**

**three — **apples (and puppies).

**. . .**

"Granger, those were my apples!"

"I'm sorry for eating your _beloved_ apples but I was in a rush and those—"

"That's no excuse."

She groans, exasperated. _This man is so very childish._

"Gods, Draco. Those are just apples. Why are you so—"

"But those were _mine_." He whines.

He is pouting, very much like a puppy, and despite her annoyance, she had almost giggled at the thought.

"Fine." She relents, sighing. "We'll just go and buy you more tomorrow, okay?"

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine."

She laughs at him and pecks his lips, satisfied when he stills for a second, looking wide eyed at her.

Draco turns into one irritable, hard-to-please puppy when he acts like a child, yet, adorable.

**. . .**


	4. four

**a/n:** i'm going back to my hometown so i figured i should update weeee.

**. . .**

**four — **ribbons.

**. . .**

He keeps his hair short.

(He just _hates _it long.)

And one day, Cassiopeia— previously sitting on his lap— stands on his thighs (he bit his lip when it hurt), pats his head and dishevels his usually, perfectly combed hair.

"Daddy, you have really nice hair."

(She is ignoring the length of it.)

All too suddenly, he dreads for what is coming.

**. . .**

She didn't bother holding back her laughter.

"Y-You look v-very _pretty_, Draco."

Cassiopeia beams and he groans.

Caelum comments about how it seems he would need another ribbon on the other side of his head and he turns to his son in horror while Cassiopeia claps, excited, also nodding in agreement.

He doesn't bother asking Hermione for help because he _knows_ that she is still shaking in silent laughter, more now, at his predicament.

But as he watches them, the upward tug in the corner of his lips becomes harder to resist.

**. . .**


	5. five

**a/n:** and i'm back!

**. . .**

**five —** buttons.

**. . .**

"Granger, you buttoned your shirt wrong."

She pauses and counts _one, two, three— _

Oh.

Pink dusted her cheeks and she huffs, glaring defiantly at him.

"It was an accident. I can fix—"

He grabs her hand, halting them from reaching even the hem of the shirt. He stares intently at the buttons and cheekily smiles at her after.

"I want to fix it."

Without her consent, he starts unbuttoning her shirt, three from below.

She knows that he can see her stomach (not that it matter, he had seen more than that anyway) but she felt somewhat exposed— standing in front of him, hands frozen by her sides, waiting for him to be done with her shirt.

But when she sees the genuine concentration on his face (just for a few buttons too), she smiles.

Maybe she should daydream more often.

**. . .**


	6. six

**a/n:** i still couldn't get rid of my writer's block and it's driving me insane.

**. . .**

**six —** potion.

**. . .**

He really didn't know how it had come to this.

There she was— Granger, of course— sitting on the floor, bawling loudly, and her clothes pooling around her because _she's now three years old_.

He glances at the top of the table behind Granger and sees the mug of coffee, above it a half-empty potion bottle with the label 'Reverse Ageing Potion'.

The urge to hit his head against the nearest wall had been strong but he restrains himself.

Instead, he tries shushing the now incredibly small (and maybe a teeny tiny bit cute) Granger and find a solution to this problem.

_It's going to be a long day._

**. . .**

"Draco,"

"Hm?"

"How can you calm Cassiopeia so well?"

"Well, that's… uh— natural talent?"

"Right…"

**. . .**


	7. seven

**a/n:** auauau what au? royalty au! well, kind of.

**. . .**

**seven —** flower crowns.

**. . .**

She hums a tune and he listens with eyes closed, breeze gently caressing his face.

The tree is an excellent provider of shade, he notes. Perfect for a snooze.

His breath evens and her humming lulls him further and further away from consciousness with the feeling of comfort strangely embracing him as he falls deeper into—

There is something on his head, he realizes with a jolt. He quickly pulls himself up, alert and ready (still disoriented too, in a way) but then he hears giggling.

Hermione's, to be precise.

He groans. What a way to spoil his almost nap.

"What are you even—" His words are slightly (just _slightly_) slurred and it seems to amuse her more.

"It fits you and don't you dare take it off." She orders him, challenging tone promising something he knows that he will definitely find unpleasant if he disobeys.

(The last time it was frogs stuffed in his boots and coat. He refuses a second, similar experience.)

Tentatively, he touches the top of his head.

"_How_ in the world am _I_ going to go back like _this_?" He points towards the flower crown for emphasis, voice pleading laced with disbelief.

She merely laughs— twirling and dancing out of his reach.

**. . .**


	8. eight

**a/n:** ahh it's been quite a while since i updated.

**. . .**

**eight —** payback.

**. . .**

With a skip in her step and hum under her breath, she enters the living room.

There is a man sprawled messily on the couch with his arm draped over his eyes to block the light. A book is on the floor right beside him (and she clicks her tongue at that) while he inhales deeply, almost snoring lightly.

She stands and stares for more than a few moments. Observing his mussed clothes and disheveled hair, she smiles gently, bright chestnut eyes softening and alight with fondness—

—then she remembers the frogs and lizards in her socks, shoes and pockets, with his choked laughter somewhere between her surprised shrieks and _nearly_ panicked wand-waving.

Oh, Mr. Malfoy, vengeance is sweet indeed.

**. . .**

She grins toothily as she works, eyebrows narrowed in concentration with her mind snickering inwardly in mischief.

(Really, Harry and Ron would be _proud_.)

**. . .**

Hours later, there was indignant screaming—

"Granger! These goddamn colours on my face are _not_ coming off!"

—and she secludes herself in the kitchen, sipping her tea and munching on chocolate chip cookies—

"The monocle and mustache are not in any way hilarious or attractive, Granger!"

—completely absorbed in her new book on runes and the like.

"Bloody hell, woman! Is this revenge for last week?"

She remains oblivious to it all until he approaches her and (more than reluctantly) begs to remove the permanent markers from his face.

The catch is, of course, to babysit Harry's two year old for a week or, well, face the world with his interestingly new appearance.

**. . .**


	9. nine

**a/n:** not so fluffy. i think.

**. . .**

**nine — **healing.

**. . .**

"Granger?"

His surprise is clearly reflected in his eyes, and her insides squirms uncertainly.

(She knows he doesn't expect her to visit him because, well, they started to act civilly around each other for only about a month ago and it's not that he had a choice in that matter but—)

"Malfoy," she nods at him in greeting while he blinks again to try and stop himself from hallucinating, "how are you feeling?"

"Er, well," he pauses, "fine, I suppose."

"Ah, good." And then, they lapse into silence.

(It's not the kind of silence where they have nothing to say, but the one where they have too much to say that they don't know how to start.)

"I—er—Granger," his ears turn redder as he stutters, and she bites her lip to prevent herself from snorting in disbelief, "t-thank you… for visiting." He refuses to meet her gaze. She is petrified.

(_Malfoy _said _thank you_ to _her_. Hermione Granger wants to laugh and cry. At the same time.)

"Uhm—" she clears her throat, hand secretly pinching her thigh, "you're welcome…?" She's not waking up. It's not a dream. _Merlin, it's not a freaking dream and Malfoy—Draco Malfoy!—is thanking her—_

"Oh, I brought you something," she distracts herself by taking out a book and places it on his bedside table, "Being in the hospital can be… boring so I brought you this." She never expected the conversation to reach this stage and had assumed that the book would still be in her handbag when she leaves. Hermione was wrong.

(Strangely, she doesn't feel resentful about it.)

"Right," he eyes the book but turns to her again, "I appreciate it."

She would've slapped him and shook him out of this odd un-Malfoyish behaviour, but decided to keep her hands to herself.

Instead, she smiles, genuinely and warmly because the change is not at all unwelcomed, "I hope it would keep you entertained, and," she glances down at her wristwatch, "I've got to get going. Get well soon."

She leaves with a smile. He eyes the door, somewhat momentarily stunned, then turns to the book.

It reads _'Emotions and Its Magic'_.

**. . .**

**a/n2:** my writing style changed in this one. and i completely made up the title of the book bleh.


End file.
